


So Darkness I Became

by I_am_lampy



Series: Open Your Eyes [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Dark John, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Heartbreak, Heartbreaking, Implied/Referenced Cheating, John is a Bit Not Good, John is a Mess, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sherlock is a Brat, like a lot of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 11:36:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10875957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_lampy/pseuds/I_am_lampy
Summary: Even a year after Sherlock died, John knows that Sherlock is in his heart and in his mind. Sherlock will always be pumping through his veins and singing along his nerves. All roads lead to Sherlock.





	So Darkness I Became

 

>   **And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat. I tried to find the sound but then it stopped and I was in the darkness, so darkness I became**
> 
> "Cosmic Love" Florence + The Machine

* * *

 

"I _hate_ that anyone else ever touched you,” Sherlock said.

He climbed onto John, one knee between John's legs, and lowered himself until their hips and bellies were pressed together.

"Sherlock," John said breathlessly, already getting hard.

Sherlock's lips met his, roughly insistent and John only ducked away for a few seconds before letting Sherlock guide his mouth back.

"I  _hate_ this person, this  _Gerald person_ ," Sherlock said against John's lips. He drove his hips against John's rubbing their cocks together. John strangled a moan but only just. "I _hate_ that he touched you. I _hate_ that his cock was inside you. You were supposed to be mine."

Sherlock's voice sounded raw, like he'd been screaming. One of his hands skated along John's side, squeezing and pinching and John sucked in a sharp breath and shied away from Sherlock's hand but the sting of the pinch electrified him.

"I hate that he ever whipped you with a crop!" Sherlock growled against John's neck. He bit John on the same spot on John's collarbone that he'd been worrying at for well over a day. There was a rich purple bloom on John's skin there. "Why, John, _why_? Why would you let him hurt you like that?"

"Sherlock," John said, trying to get Sherlock's attention. "It was just the one time. He didn't hurt me because he - "

"I want you, John," Sherlock whispered against his ear. "I want you so much I'm mad with wanting you. Let me have you. I want to erase him."

“Are you _jealous_?" John asked incredulously. "Is that the only thing that matters to you out of everything I've told you?"

"You're mine," Sherlock said and caught John in another kiss. " _Mine_ , you were always mine from the beginning."

Sherlock's tongue was breaching John's closed lips and John couldn't help himself. He opened his mouth for Sherlock and his hands plowed into Sherlock's hair tugging and petting before skimming along Sherlock's back as his muscles moved under John's hands.

It was impossible not to want this after all these years. How could he say no to this - to Sherlock above him, Sherlock's hands on him, Sherlock's lips kissing his, Sherlock demanding to be let into John's body - how could he say no?

Sherlock slid his body up and down John's and John parted his thighs to receive him, opening up ready and wanting. He rocked against Sherlock and they kissed, lips on lips and then lips scraping along jaws rough with stubble.

"Yes," Sherlock whispered against John's ear. "Let me in. I need you. Don't you want me inside you? Haven't you imagined it for years?"

"Yes," John breathed, heady with lust and longing.

Finally, _finally_ here they were, naked and ready. Why was he saying no? It didn't matter. He didn't care about that anymore. He only cared about Sherlock.

"You want me to fuck you, don't you,"  Sherlock said, his voice hoarse with desire, rumbling through John's body like thunder, feeding John's longing. "I can read it on your face and in the way your body is responding to me. Was it me you thought of when he was fucking you?"

Wasn't this what John had wanted? Sherlock owning him inside and out, erasing the men who came after Gerald? No, the men who came after Riley. After Riley is when it all went dark.

Sherlock pressed two fingers inside John's mouth and John sucked and licked, working his tongue around each finger, lapping at the sensitive webbing between Sherlock's two fingers. When Sherlock pulled them out of John's mouth, he gripped John's arse with both hands, lifting John up against him, spreading John's cheeks, his wet fingers searching for the way into John's body.

"I want to suck your cock while I finger you. Fuck my face, John, use me. I want to taste your semen, however bitter because it's  _yours_. I want to swallow it down and then lick you clean."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Sherlock," John hissed. "Where did you learn to say all this? I was shocked yesterday because you let me touch your cock and now you sound like a script from a dirty movie? When we met, you acted like sex was something us mortals did because we were slaves to biology and you were so above it. I'm actually blushing at this shit you're saying to me."

"Idiot," Sherlock said, nuzzling John's chin, his fingers circling and teasing John's entrance. "Surely you know me well enough to know I don't do anything by half. This is what you do to me. It's not a script.These are all the things I wanted to say to you crowded into my head over years, John, _years_. I swear it won't always be like this but you're telling me no while your cock is so wet that my stomach is slippery like you smeared lube on it."

Sherlock worked a spit soaked finger inside John who cried out and clutched Sherlock, grinding himself back against Sherlock's hand.

"My cock isn't the only one wet," John gasped.

"Of course not because look at you, John! You're breathtaking. How can I not be desperate for you when you're fucking yourself on my finger?"

"Yes, yes," John whispered.

"From the moment I went away, I've wanted this. Now we can have it!"

John froze. The haze of lust he was floating in began to dissipate and then he was propelled abruptly and painfully out of the moment, out of Sherlock, and into cold reality.

"No!" John twisted away from Sherlock. "No, Sherlock, you weren't _away."_

His elbow caught Sherlock underneath the jaw while he struggled to get away but John didn't apologize. He got out of bed and stood up, his whole body shaking with rage.

"You weren't fucking _away_. I thought you were _dead_ , Sherlock! You don't get to be _jealous_ of who I slept with or what comfort he gave me when I _was grieving_  for you. You don't get to put me on _pause_ while you go run off to save the world and then come back and expect me to be fucking grateful for it!"

Sherlock looked away, his jaw clenched. The flat was suddenly too quiet. John took a deep breath and let it out. He grabbed his pants off the floor and pulled them on and then his t-shirt too.

"What happened to you, John?" Sherlock asked, still avoiding John's eyes. "How many times do I have to apologize for what I did? How many times do I have to admit I was wrong? What happened to you while I was away - when you thought I was dead, John, what happened to make you hate me so much? Tell me!"

"Downstairs. I'll make tea. I can't talk about this while I'm lying in bed naked with you."

Without waiting for Sherlock, he descended the stairs and stalked into the kitchen. Having a baby in the house had habituated him to not slamming around when he was angry but _Christ_ , he desperately wanted to.

He put the kettle on, got out two mugs and two teabags. He settled back against the counter with his arms crossed and watched the door between the living room and kitchen, waiting for Sherlock to appear. When Sherlock did appear, he stopped. They stared at each other across the expanse of the kitchen.

In thirty-six hours, their relationship had changed so drastically they almost didn't recognize each other. How were they supposed to accept each other as lovers when they had such a hard time owning up to all the pain and anger accumulated over seven years of friendship?

John didn't even know how to begin. The only way through for him was to give up all his secrets, to throw it all out and let the cards fall where they would.

"Remember the text where I mentioned fucking a bloke who looked like you in your bed?"

Sherlock nodded, his body stiff, looking like his usual arrogant self, with his chin up, his eyes looking down haughtily. Even from ten feet away, John could feel the frustration and impatience boiling off of Sherlock.

John wanted to run to Sherlock and kiss him and beg his forgiveness and smooth the furrow in Sherlock's brow and relax the steel in his posture. He wanted to rewind everything to yesterday afternoon, when Sherlock called Rosie  _our_ disease vector. Or rewind to a few hours ago, when they were clutching each other, overflowing with tears and so desperately, painfully in love.

John wanted to rewind time but he couldn't so instead he took a leap of faith.

"I'd been with Gerald about nine months. We went out one night, to a club in Soho. There were seven of us, I think. I was sat back in the booth with Gerald who was talking to his friend Rebecca. I was watching people walk in and out, only half listening to the conversation.

"This bloke walked in the door – could've sworn it was you. My fucking heart stopped and then two seconds later, I was up and out of my chair and across the bar before I could even think about what I was doing. I grabbed this man by the shoulder – _Christ_. Sherlock, you have no idea."

John rubbed his hands over his face. The kettle whistled and he jumped, his hand over his heart.

"Sit down," Sherlock said gruffly. "I'll make the damn tea."

John didn't argue. When he sat down, he put his head in his hands and took a deep breath before he picked up the thread of the story.

 

* * *

 

_Other than the cheekbones, his height, and the curly hair, this bloke doesn't look like Sherlock. His hair is a dark ginger and his face is freckled. His eyes are round and blue – just plain blue, not the shifting blue-grey-green of Sherlock's eyes. He has a dimple in his chin._

_John's eyes skate all over this man's face trying to get his brain and his heart caught up with the irrefutable evidence before him that this man is not Sherlock. But the idea, the desire he has for this man to be Sherlock persists. People are moving past them and John is just staring, stuttering, flailing, drowning all over again._

_Then not-Sherlock cocks an eyebrow and smiles._

_"You're staring. Can I assume it's because you're struck dumb by my stunning good-looks and animal magnetism? I'm Riley by the way."_

_Riley holds his hand out for John to shake and social protocol kicks in and saves John. He puts his hand in Riley's and they shake._

_"Name's John.You look like someone I know – knew," John says. "Someone I knew. Sorry for, you know. Grabbing you."_

_"So my animal magnetism isn't quite as magnetic as I thought?"_

_John is not quite returned to the moment. He's got three different trains of thought going on in his head – one, that this man is not Sherlock because Sherlock is (still) dead; two, that he wants to grab Gerald and get out of here; and three, how to convince Gerald that they should get out of here._

_John blinks and the world around him seems to start up again. He barks in laughter, once._

_"You're plenty magnetic and stunning, mate. It's just– I'm here with someone."_

_"Well, if you ever find yourself without someone, I'm here every night from Thursday to Sunday."_

_John looks at him in confusion._

_"I'm a bartender here. Thursday to Sunday. Four to midnight."_

_"Ah," John says, nodding his head._

_John has the intention to turn and go but he doesn't follow through just yet. They look at each other. John licks his lips unconsciously and Riley drops his eyes to John's lips. Only then does John realize that he's done it. It's a habit and doesn't necessarily mean he's aroused although right now that's exactly what it means. Riley leans closer._

_"John," Riley says, so close that their clothes almost brush together. "Are you sure I can't tempt you away from this 'someone'?"_

_"Not tonight," John says and grins._

_"Oh, that sounds promising," Riley says._

_"Yeah. Well, I have to. Yep."_

_"Go back to your someone?"_

_"Exactly," John says._

_This time he walks away. He slides back into the booth next to Gerald who puts his hand on John's knee and squeezes._

_John leans closer to Gerald and cups his crotch. He puts his lips against Gerald's ear._

_"Let's go. Now. I want to fuck you into the mattress."_

_Gerald looks at him with wide eyes. He's shocked but he's also game. John can see it in his eyes. Gerald fumbles through their goodbye and everyone throws good natured jeers their way. 'Yeah, yeah we know exactly why you're fucking off home.' 'To fuck!' Rebecca yells and everyone laughs or chuckles or rolls their eyes. John likes Gerald's friends. It reminds him of med school or his time in Afghanistan, screwing around with his mates, taking the piss._

_They barely make it into the flat before John has Gerald up against the wall, caging Gerald's body with his own._

_"Where's this coming from?" Gerald gasps out while John is biting and sucking his way down Gerald's chest with every button he looses._

_"This is what you do to me," John says. "You put your hand on my knee and I remembered how stunning you are when you're on_ your _knees, begging for me to fuck you."_

_"Oh," Gerald moans, his head dropping back against the wall with a thud._

_John peels Gerald's shirt off his shoulders and then gets Gerald's trousers open, taking him in hand as soon as he can. Gerald is already hard. John strokes him lazily with his left hand. His right is pressed against the wall next to Gerald's head._

_"You want to get on your hands and knees so I can fuck you, don't you?"_

_"Yes," Gerald breathes, completely under John's spell. This is John's talent - he can take Gerald apart in minutes._

_"Say it. Beg for it." John speeds up the rhythm of his hand working Gerald's cock._

_"I want you to fuck me," Gerald murmurs. "Please fuck me."_

_"That didn't sound very sincere," John says, running his tongue over the shell of Gerald's ear. "Come on gorgeous, I want to hear you beg."_

_Gerald drops to his knees but before he even opens his mouth, John is pulling down his own trousers, toeing off his shoes, kicking shoes, trousers, and pants off to the side. He wraps an arm around Gerald's chest and puts his fingers against Gerald's lips._

_"Suck. Make it slippery," he commands and Gerald sucks._

_John uses his wet fingers to prepare Gerald who has already lowered himself to his elbows in anticipation. John rubs the head of his cock against Gerald's hole, using his pre-ejaculate as lube. It beads up each time he swipes it around. John is so aroused he doesn't even remember what set this off._

_"Say it," John says. "Beg."_

_"Please," Gerald groans._

_"Please what?" John growls._

_"Please fuck me. Please - Christ, John. I'm - "_

_"Mine? That's what you were gonna say, yeah? 'I'm yours'?"_

_"Yes, yes, yours, of course I'm yours."_

_John grabs Gerald's hips, digging all five fingers into Gerald's skin, pulling him back as John buries himself in Gerald's body all in one go. He lights up with ecstasy when Gerald cries out John's name. He's perfect and gorgeous, and he belongs to John._

_"You're! Mine!" John shouts when he comes. He flips Gerald over and sucks him off, lighting up again at the groan that rips out of Gerald's mouth when he comes, the groan that carries the word "yours" on it. John swallows him down, keeping his mouth on Gerald until he's oversensitive. He pulls off with an obscene sucking pop._

_"Perfect," John murmurs to Gerald before he kisses him. "Fucking perfect."_

* * *

_That's the last time John feels connected to Gerald._

_After that, John can't stop thinking about Riley and thinking about Riley always leads him Sherlock. All roads lead to Sherlock._

_John's anger starts bubbling up out of_ _the cauldron that sits in his gut. Being with Gerald put a tight lid on that cauldron but meeting Riley has knocked it off._

_To be fair, that cauldron seething with something darker has always been there. It was there before he met Sherlock. John struggles to be a good man, an honorable man. He values his integrity but there has always been something a little dark in John, something that only knows how to love viciously and brutally, something that prefers to work out his differences with his fists rather than with words.That something has consistently gone head to head with John's moral code. John may be a little dark inside but he knows what's right and what's wrong. When he chooses wrong he fucking knows it._

_Gerald doesn't question it two days later when John says he's going out for a while. That's why John finds himself alone at the club where Riley tends bar. It's a little after nine on a Thursday night. It's been a year since Sherlock fell off the roof of St. Bart's._

_Riley spots him right away and waves him over. Conversation isn't why John's here and he's pretty sure conversation isn't why Riley invited him here. John drinks an ale for show. Riley gives John his phone number. John slips it into his pocket._

_Years from now when John finds himself texting the woman he meets on the bus who turns out to be Eurus, he'll remember the start of his relationship with Riley and realize with a burning despair that he's still that man - the man who would cheat on someone who loves him just for the thrill of it._

_John knows from the moment he slips Riley's phone number in his pocket exactly what he's set in motion, and what he's set in motion is a train wreck._

_Even a year after Sherlock died, John knows that Sherlock is in his heart and in his mind. Sherlock will always be pumping through his veins and singing along his nerves. All roads lead to Sherlock._

_John is creating the love that should have been his and he's doing it with a man simply because he looks like Sherlock. Knowing that about himself – knowing that he would cheat on Gerald, who loves him, with a_ fucking copy _of the dead man that John loves is so fucked up, so completely and utterly fucked up, that John is one hundred percent sure he'll never be able to hammer out all the crooked corners of his dark heart._

_John throws what he has with Gerald away, just like that, the first time he fucks Riley in Sherlock's bed. It's Sherlock he's thinking about when he does it even though he -_

* * *

 "I lied. I can't listen to this," Sherlock said abruptly.

"What?" John asked, looking at him over the table.

"I don't want to hear this. I can't listen to this. It's not – I'm not going to sit here and listen to you – in _my_ _fucking_ _bed_ , John?"

"Hold up," John said, reaching out to grab Sherlock by the elbow. "I told you that I fucked someone in your bed because he looked like you and you turned it into a joke."

"I thought it _was_ a joke!" Sherlock snapped. He yanked his arm out of John's grip.

"I told you," John said, standing up, smiling in that way that was not a smile. "I told you if you knew the truth you wouldn't want anything to do with me."

"Well, surprise! Everyone's right at least once in their life. Congratulations, John. You were right." Sherlock's voice coated everything he said in derision.

John shook his head and leaned towards Sherlock, his heart imploding with shame and fear and rage.

"Are you telling me you don't want anything to do with me?" John asked, his hands turning into fists.

"That's _exactly_ what I'm telling you. If you'll excuse me, I have to go get my stuff so I can go home and  _disinfect_   _my flat_ ," Sherlock hissed.

Sherlock took the stairs two at a time. John waited for less than three minutes next to the front door for Sherlock to come down. They stared at each other as Sherlock took the final seven steps into the living room. He stopped two paces away.

"Move out of the way, John, because I don't want to have to make you move."

"I'd like to fucking see you try," John growled but when Sherlock moved towards him, John held up his hand. He took a deep breath and tried to wrap some kind of shell around his heart because he knew what was coming, he'd known it all along, but he had to hear it from Sherlock's mouth.

"I need to know, Sherlock. Are we at least still friends?"

"No," Sherlock said. His eyes were cold and determined. John searched them for something else but there was nothing.

John nodded once and stepped aside. Sherlock closed the door quietly behind him. John went back into the kitchen to make another cup of tea and wait for Rosie to wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise you that this series will have a happy ending. Don't despair just yet!  
> ************************  
> I always welcome emails from readers about anything that tickles your fancy, even if it's just randomness!
> 
> archiveofMYown@gmail.com  
> Teddy


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